José Cueli: Hope

L

The hope of Leo XIV consists in the substance of things we hope for. Hope consists in accepting what we feel we have. In endowing life with spirit; in being spirits spurred by the yearning of our categorical creative intuition.

Being exists and is the flow of time. What's more, only being exists . The blurring of being against the current emphasizes unity, centrality, fixity, and systematization. They discovered that everything moves, changes color, disintegrates, disappears, and reappears.

He makes each moment, as reality, a disturbing, elusive flow, finding a plastic way to express it with the famous image of the man who never bathes twice in the same river, because the river is no longer the same, the waters are no longer the same; they have ceased to be what they were, they will never be again. We are and we are not , we are and we are not . Therefore, he enunciates: Nothing is born, nor does anything die, everything is transformed . And it is variety that perpetuates things; the sparkle of their tireless mutation could engender the natural constitution of being. Therefore, being would be variety, flux, and reflux of a constant movement. This is how everything mistily unravels for him, giving him the impression that nothing is anything, that everything is an illusion, a delirium. The substance of this confusion of feelings would be recorded as a sudden and progressive disenchantment. His ideals vanish into a delirium like a dream mistaken for life. Result of the degree of fixity in which, as a pilgrim through the fields, he remains motionless and, as he walks, subtly realizes that he has entered time (pure time, Freudian temporalization, a resource of discontinuous temporality, the thought of difference). Because walking is nothing other than time. The impalpable, the mysterious, being, that which always eludes us, slips through our fingers. And how can we grasp that which is missing , that which cannot be seen, that which flows, dense and elusive, which is nothing other than the firm, invisible existence of being, which brought him into contact with an indefinable reality that summarizes what he was seeking: the invulnerable face of life, its throbbing ambush? Could it be that Leo XIV does not speak of this being, which is the force of being so hidden? It is revealed to us not through the hidden, but through the visible, not immersed in immutability, but on the contrary, in constant movement, moving disquietingly on the ephemeral heels of the transitory? In other words, there is no other reality of being than this, which is indicating to us the constant and elusive mutation of the things of the world.